


You Know You Gotta Help Me Out

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Play Along [34]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, band au, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: 'any, any, "Yes, this is a horrible idea, but I don't hear you coming up with a better one."'</p><p>Rodney goes to plead his case to John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know You Gotta Help Me Out

John was backstage, trying to sort out the ridiculous costumes the house manager insisted he wear to 'blend in' with each act when he heard a familiar voice outside the dressing room door.  
  
His hands stilled on the impossible-to-fold serape.  
  
"Yes, this is a horrible idea, but I don't hear you coming up with a better one."  
  
Rodney McKay.  
  
"It's not my job to come up with a better one. I just pointed you in the direction of the best guitarist I know for what you want. My work here is done." That was Hailey, from the Snakeskinners.  
  
John knew Cam and the Snakeskinners were back in the studio working on their third album, and Rodney was one of their session musicians who had also kind of taken over their sound engineering. What John didn't know was why Rodney had accompanied Hailey on a six-hour drive to the Anything Goes bar where John played on the weekends.  
  
John stared, transfixed, where the doorknob started to turn.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to go home and think this over?" Hailey asked.  
  
"We drove for six hours. I'm going to make the trip worth it."  
  
"You mean seeing John Sheppard's genius on the guitar wasn't worth a six-hour drive?"  
  
"It was worth walking the five hundred miles," Rodney snapped. "But if I don't at least try to talk to him, what's the point?"  
  
"Your funeral," Hailey said. "Also, you might want to knock."  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
John turned away from it, resumed struggling to fold the serape. "C'mon in," he called out, pleased when he sounded jovial and casual, like he had no idea who was on the other side of the door.  
  
It creaked open.  
  
"Hey, John."  
  
He turned, and oh, it was so unfair, how good Rodney looked. John thought distance and time and dreams would have tarnished the blue of Rodney's eyes, the loveliness of his mouth. "Rodney. What brings you back to town? Or the outskirts of town, at any rate."  
  
"You," Rodney said.  
  
"Me?" John echoed, wincing at how eager he sounded.  
  
"Not like that," Rodney said quickly, and John couldn't help it - he flinched back.

"I mean - Newton on a pogo stick, I'm messing this up." Rodney scrubbed a hand over his face. "John Sheppard, I have a proposition for you."  
  
"Not the kind I've been wanting since high school, I'm guessing," John said, and his voice came out steadier. He even managed a smile.  
  
It was Rodney's turn to wince. "A musical proposition."  
  
"Not getting back together with the band, Rodney. I'm back in school. Things are okay between me, Dave, and Dad now. I'm going to finish school and join the family business and do music on the side, and life will be okay." John turned away.  
  
"I was wrong," Rodney said, and John whipped around to look at him, because those were words Rodney McKay never said. Ever.  
  
"I was worried about Jennifer and I was wrong to demand to know things about you I had no right to know. You were wrong to assume I knew things I didn't know, and you were even more wrong to ask our friends to keep things from me, things that were important to making sure our dynamics as a band were functioning properly."  
  
That was more like Rodney, but he wasn't wrong, because John had been incredibly stupid as well.  
  
"I was wrong, and I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry too," John said softly. "But it's not like our band dynamics matter now." He turned back to sorting out the costumes.  
  
"Please just hear me out. Please."  
  
John glanced over his shoulder at Rodney, who was holding out his phone.  
  
"I've started this project with some of the other session musicians, and it's good, but none of the guitarists are quite what I need. Give me a chance."  
  
Damn Rodney McKay and his blue eyes.  
  
"Show me what you've got," John said.  
  
The relief on Rodney's face was a little gratifying. He unlocked his cell phone and fired up the video app. John was startled to see a screen cap of himself, wearing that ridiculous Union soldier uniform, and he realized it was a video of that time they'd jammed during that photo shoot.  
  
The photo shoot where Dad had -  
  
Rodney scrolled through the videos, and he pulled up a video of what looked like the inside of a dusty attic decorated like it was the Great Depression. Only the man at the piano was Rodney (and he looked good in a homespun shirt and pants and suspenders, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms). And the band was playing a slow, torch song version of Fact Fiction. John didn't recognize the girl in the tea dress who was singing, but she was good.  
  
"And you can see why I need you," Rodney said, pointing to the guitarist.  
  
"Session musicians are usually the best of the best," John said dubiously. Best as he could tell, the guitarist was doing a fine job. On the other hand, during sound check John had often thought things sounded fine, and then Rodney threw a hissy fit and things were adjusted and then the band magically sounded better.  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Come on." He dragged John back out to the stage - the bar was mostly closed down, but Hailey was charming Bobby the bartender - and plopped down at the piano. He shut off his phone and pocketed it and began to play the same riff as on the video.  
  
"Pick up your guitar," Rodney said, "and show me what you'd do."  
  
John's guitar - his mother's guitar - was still on its stand, so he scooped it up, settled it across his lap, and listened to Rodney play. He started with the riff he'd heard on the video, and Rodney huffed at him, so he switched up the rhythm a little bit, a crunchier, more syncopated strumming pattern, and Rodney looked absurdly pleased.  
  
"There, you see? That's what the song needed. While I do the primary arranging, I can't hold everyone's hand when they arrange their parts," Rodney said. "I need someone who has experience across multiple genres, and obviously you do, as evidenced by your performance tonight." He lifted his hands off the keys and turned more fully toward John. "Please say you'll help me out."

"What will it involve? Time-wise, because I'm working and in school," John said.  
  
"Pretty much everyone involved in this endeavor is also working full-time at the studio," Rodney said, "so it'd just be on the weekends. One day for rehearsal, one day for filming."  
  
"What else will it involve?" John asked.  
  
"Jeannie's helping me tailor costumes for everyone," Rodney said quickly. "So you won't have to worry about footing the bill for those."  
  
John wet his lips, lowered his voice. "Will this be like before? Where we work together but we don't like each other?"  
  
"I like you," Rodney said in a small voice.  
  
"But not how I like you, right? Thanks, but no thanks, Rodney. Good luck, though. You're doing something kind of amazing." John stood up, carrying his guitar with him, and turned away.  
  
Rodney caught his wrist. "I don't think you know how I like you, John Sheppard."  
  
And there it was, that look in his eyes, the look John had seen in Rodney's eyes the night of the last concert.  
  
John wet his lips again, and Rodney's gaze fixed on his mouth. "How do you like me, Rodney McKay?"  
  
Rodney kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from All These Things That I've Done


End file.
